I Am: An epic
by snugy321
Summary: From life, to "death", to second birth, to death. Rated M for convenience.
1. A word from the Author

Thank you for barging into this story that you've stumbled upon. This work is *highly experimental* and it's advised to take most of the narrative in this work as headcanon. This work attempt to chronicle the life of Jackie Lynn Thomas, from post Sophomore Slump until her death, with an option for a "spinoff" arc sometime in the future. Most of the work here are usually in the form of one-shot stories, from various perspective. Stories are attempted, but not necessarily, told in an orderly fashion. There is a plan for a consolidated "book in a book" as a sub arc in the stories that follows, so stay tuned. The author would really like to hear your comments, critics and advises in this matter, as this is the author's first publicised work. Thank you for your coordination, and enjoy.

Oh and warning, contents not suitable for children ahead. Turn around now; no joke.


	2. I Am: Introduction letter

Dear reader,

Hello, I guess.

This is a project that I start as a way to express all of my experience in life. I wouldn't know what my life would turn out to be. As I'm writing this short introduction, I'm 16 years old. My current state of life isn't as rosy as I would dream ten, five, even two years ago. Everything falls apart, like bricks hit by a stone flung from 10 paces away. This is maybe a Greek tragedy, maybe a romantic story, maybe as well, the best autobiography anyone can ever write.

Most of my friends are no more. Marco is gone, Janna is gone, Brittney is gone. Nobody that I gave my affection to had stayed with me for longer than an intercourse; literal and figurative. Am I just a rube? Someone that they use as a cheap method of releasing tension inside? Is my soul that cheap?

I currently don't have the answer right now.

Enjoy, I guess.

\--o--0--o--

That was me fourteen years ago. My life is now 180 degrees flipped upside down. I'm now quite successful myself, with a husband and a daughter. All my past sadness is gone, like a writing in the sand, washed away by the ocean of chronos. I stumbled upon this document whilst I was cleaning my hard disk, so might as well finish the whole affair, right?

If I could speculate the answer that I asked years ago, I can say that it depends. We can weigh that element that makes us... us just by looking at life from a different perspective. I used to believe that what I lived through was a torture, a hell. But just recently, by a chat with my husband, steel can't be strong without going through a furnace first, innit?

Look out for more chapters in my life. Maybe... I'll publish it later?

Maybe.

\--o--0--o--

This is Naufal speaking. On behalf of Jackie, she assigned us to finish this no-longer-autobiography to be ready to be published by the end of this year. Unfortunately, Allah missed her so much, she was called by him just this January, after a massive crash in the Singapore Grand Prix forces her to go through a persistent vegetative state. All of us, the clerics, Najma and Apollo, Riccardo, Hamilton, Vettel and Horner all sign below as co-authors of Formula One's most celebrated look back in life, personal and professional.

Requiesce in pace, o vos qui dilexit.

Jakarta, 20th March 2037

Signature


	3. Allow me to love you!

"Are you serious?" She asked with a red face. He thrust the ring in front of her, nodding as if someone had submitted a business proposal. Dumbfounded was the blonde woman, staring at the ring like water that pooled, damaging the dam. "B-but I don't know, Naufal. I- I have ..." An ellipsis. Breath blew from her nose.

Maybe, just maybe he thought that her mind would go to the word "yes" without any significant conflict in her heart. However, if Naufal knew how unexpected this engagement might be. "Think carefully, Jackie. He has been your friend for so long, you even dated him. But also, Marco had come all the way from the opposite dimension, I can't reject his love for me, the one buried for so long. Aaaaaah, what should I do?!" Thus was the woman's monologue. She looked at the ring like a fool. She can't determine whether this is yes or no answer. Naufal waited with a smile as if drawn by someone struck down with Parkinson's, unsteady, uncertain.

The Osso Bucco that Jackie had ordered froze, releasing the sway of its atoms into the air, cold as if blown by the wind. Water ran down her cheeks, but Naufal did not hear a single sob. "Jackie? What's the matter? " he asked. His eyebrows began to fuse, tying his forehead. "Fal, I ... I don't know what to say," she replied with a tremble. He swept her tears, slowly rubbed his cheek, a woman, in her 20s from California. "It's okay to say 'no,' Jackie Lynn Thomas," said Naufal. He could read her cry, the conflict inside her heart is expressed from the tremble of her shoulder, rubbed with his left hand, decorated with gold. Naufal's smile was swept away by the cold in the Dago area, only a step away from ITB, where he took his degree, whilst Jackie took a master's degree at Padjajaran University. Both have become friends - even dated, at one point – for so long. Initially from Instagram, as a result, begat to them this moment.

"I know your feelings, Jackie. If I were you, I would be confused too. Marco must also want you to return to his arms. Is he here because he loves Star? Certainly not," he explained. The tears change to anger, anger at herself. "Slap me right now! Don't you know how confused I am ?! Love is not a real thing that can be processed by logic, it is emotional! I can't choose! Slap me, Fal!" She fell weak at the restaurant. She lost fighting with herself. Naufal hugged her tightly, letting Jackie spill his emotions and tears into his coat. "Jackie ..." he commented whilst stroking the dress she wearing. The mint green of her dress seemed to wither.

"I'm sorry, Naufal; Muhammad Naufal Afif. I'm a fool," she said softly, behind the cry of regret. He just waits for certainty, but what actually happens is this. Naufal closed the ring box on the table and he pocketed it again in his coat pocket. He felt, he absorbed all the chaos of Jackie's soul into his robotic soul, stiff even. He hugs her head, rubbing her hair, scented with seven flowers. Only him and her knew how tormented Jackie was to choose one companion for the rest of her life, Marco or him. She just said unto Naufal, "The answer is in your hands." He paused, processing whether Marco would accept the conditions he would do.

A few days after the incident, Naufal waited at a café near ITB. He had to say all that had happened to Marco, whatever he answered. He can't decide unilaterally about Jackie's heart affair. He must talk to him. "Ah, Naufal, mi amigo," Marco said from the man, walking alongside to the Salman Mosque. Hands shook, minds blend. "Marco, sit down." Naufal offered, it was pretty parky out in Bandung and he ordered Marco a cappuccino. "Okay, so about that problem ..." The two fell silent. "Should-" Marco said, "Naufal, take her." "Wha?! how soon did you determine her fate ?!" Naufal asked in surprise. "Fal, I'm sorry," Marco said. "I-I'm really reckless. I can't obstruct your relationship like this. I'm really sorry, bro. I'm insolent," he explained. "Marco ... it's okay if you want to be with her again. I don't force her to be mine. If you still want to be with Jackie, please, do," Naufal said as if handing him over to Marco.

Leaves blown in the wind, trying to glance at the turmoil on the faces of the two men. "Sometimes, we must learn to let go of something," he said with a sigh. "If Jackie has loved you, even forgotten me, after all this time we separated, do I have the right to take it back for me?" Marco continued rhetorically. Naufal was stunned, didn't we ever fight each other over her heart, he thought. He sighed, letting the nitrogen and oxygen particles touch his skin. "Are you serious? Don't you still love her? " "We both know, Naufal," Marco said, "That's not true." Naufal nodded slowly, reached out to him and shook his hand, but Marco hugged him instead. "Keep Jackie well for me; this is the imperative of your king, okay?" "Sir, yes, Sir!" Naufal answered with a joking note of obedience. He quickly left, letting Marco all by himself in the café.

That night, Naufal knocked on the door of her apartment, in Buah Batu. "Come on in," said Jackie. She opened the door for Naufal while hugging him, as if she did not want him to leave. "What's the matter, Jackie?" Naufal asked. His face is covered with carbon dioxide, is blown by the exhaust fumes of the roads of Bandung. His mouth was as if his heart beat stopped, level, still. "Let me—" Hadn't he said a word yet, Jackie joined her lips and Naufal's, letting both of their ptyalin mix in their oral cavities. His hand held Naufal's neck as he pushed it to his face. He can only thought, this is the answer, a "yes", implicitly drawn on her face. "Jackie ...," said Naufal. "W-What ...?" "Yeah, a thousand times yes, Fal! I choose you!" cried Jackie. Naufal's cheeks as if their capillaries had blown. He did not expect that she would immediately declare her loyalty without any context-connection to him. He thought, maybe this was all karma, maybe this was the revenge—a sweet one—from his temper a few days ago. Naufal's eyes seemed to shed a tear, as if a leaking pipe. "Naufal, why?" asked Jackie. "If so ..." sobbed Naufal. Without warning, he lifted Jackie to his arms and he kiss her lips, making him blush. The look on both of their face as if flowers that blooms in spring. He recited his oath to Jackie, "Allow me to protect you, my dear!"

Both loved for hours and hours, they have become eternal covalence bonds.


	4. I Am: Two Drunken Lovebirds

I can't really look back at my past without at least sobbing and pitying myself. This life, this innocence that God so dearly gave to every human that has ever born, was took in the most satanically devilish way as possible. Is as if I was made as a mistake; an ugly outcome to two drunken lovebirds who just happens to meet up and decided that it was Zeus time. Abandoned; nobody that I knew so far in that point of my life can qualify to get the badge of "father" and "mother". Life is a series of abuse. Each and every stage gets deeper and deeper to the maze of life. Each and every day I woke up as if disillusioned from a halcyon, an unrealistic dream of a family I can call my own. The pain only grows the more old I became, making it something of shackle in my hand, weighing me down.

I remember when I was in kindergarten. I remember the pale white beige walls filled with ABCs and 123s and many people who soon fade to the obscurity of unfired neurons. I remember when someone put down a spider in my desk and I cried seeing it. But a man, chivalrous enough to do the impossible, puts it away from me. That was Marco. He looks like a man that any woman can comfortably anchor their feelings, their qualia, and feel secure in his quite well built arms. He is a bit shy, socially challenged, but nonetheless seem to look like an honest, can-do-no-wrong guy. He always smiles at and greet people. He is a bit taller than me if I can recall. He seems like the perfect man, the perfect groom for me. But, I was wrong; sorely mistaken. It was one of the biggest mistake in my life; to let him into my life.

I remember when I was in primary school. I remember the grades that the teacher gave me, the report card that had to be taken by myself and my caretaker, as well as skateboarding. I only knew my uncle. He looks like a fat bloke with Winston Churchill like stature with an exceptionally twirled moustache. He owns a skateboard manufacturing company and bought me my first. It was turquoise with an orange stripe stretching vertically from the nose to the back of it. It was quite liberating to own something that isn't exactly endowed at birth; a trick my "father" did to save his face from begetting me; a fact I learned later in life. Marco excels. If I can give an analogy, in academic terms, he was like Michael Jackson. He helped me to get good grades whenever he got into the same class as me; three times, if I can recall.

If I want to recall.

I remember when I was in middle school. I remember I was a key player in the social dynamic of that institution. Echo Creek Academy, if I'm not mistaken. I was quite the centre of the attention there, getting to parties, socialising, and cool stuffs all around. It was at this time I got acquainted with Janna. She has this aura of mystique surrounding her. Her way of living, of talking; there's this snarky elegance to it, some sort of je ne sais quoi. I realised then, I fell in love with a woman. The qualia, so new and verily odd thing to do. A storm engulfed my inner self as I got to grips of the whole situation. Do I love her? Do I _need_ to love her? I can't say. I remember when I tried to confess to her. She always had that lovingly annoying attitude at people's emotion, which I can do without at that time. I can never say it to her, until later in life.

I remember when I had my first kiss. That sensation, neurons overflowing from axons to dendrites with minerals and signals, as I dock my lips with Marco's, my first love. He confessed to me when we were in 8th grade and he decided to take us to the movie theatre. I was so scared looking at that film I hugged his arm as tightly as I can. Little that I knew that I want that off my body more than ever if I knew the course of my life. After our first date, I took him to the school prom and decided to make the move on him. Then, that. He knew he wanted me so bad. His face, so tense and young, expresses interest to me, in a form that he might've not known at that time. I just smirked at him. I _was_ happy with him.

I remember when I was naïve like a small child as that demagogue told me to undress for "scientific reason". I remember the cold December night when he came to my house. His face, battle scarred, came to me as if he wasn't the boy I dated before. His smile, so... disgusting; its repulsing. I remember his growling demand; "Take it off now." I remember how he fondled me; like a kid in a natural museum, he touches everything he saw. I was terrified. At least in human terms, since he looks like an adult, it can be considered paedophilia. I can remember the blood gushing from a place I so deeply want to give to anyone who wouldn't leave me for someone they knew the night before; a one night stand, it seems. He slowly get his hands to do his ritual, using me as a sacrifice to Eros. I can scream as his magic increases in me. I am being raped.

I can remember his aura when he left. A fragrance of regret, suppressed sexual desire and vengeance. I remember the messy hair and the pyjamas ripped on the floor. The smell of Durex and Fiesta, haemoglobin and sperm marinated my whole private part and my bed. The scissor, which he accidentally left beside me, lays open at about 120. I snip myself from those magical chains and call 911. Ambulance came to my house and whisk me away to a nearby hospital. I told them, as objectively as possible, the whole story. But instead of a cavity check and a pat on the back, they put me in a padded cell.

Sick fucks!


	5. Scrambled Eggs After Sex

Its two in the morning in Dago. The air blew like a rain of fire arrows. I just woke up. Jackie, Najma, Apollo, all asleep. Well, maybe not so. She rolled over, against the Kiblah. Her blonde hair moves up and down like the Rupiah's value in the market. Last time I checked, one US dollar is around Rp5.600. Her body, half covered with a blanket, as if an unspoiled beach. Golden, rugged, yet smooth. I stopped staring, maybe because I was uncomfortable. Who knows the contents of my brain? My breath is rather heavy, I haven't bathed after doing the deed with her. Ugh, smelly, I thought. Hungry, too. Hangry even

I open the fridge like a bank robber. The contents are just like that. Jackie's favourite raw vegetables, some cakes made by Najma's friends, Apollo's smoothie. Thus the list perpetrates on, like a fight in the parliament. Eggs. Hmmmmmm. Only two show up. Broccoli. Garlic. Alright. I'm in action. Let's do this.

I grabbed a bowl and crack the eggs into it, making sure that nobody listened to any of it, not even the flies. I whisk it up and added a couple of things. Fish sauce, nice smoky, umami flavour. Pepper. And also, some dried oregano. Whisk it a bit more and I left them for awhile. I clean the table and reach out for my knife. I contemplate on it, quite awhile. I ponder on how God can chop up my life then and there if I'm still the demagogue I used to be. I look at it and see all my teachers, friends, parents even. A tear was secreted. I swoop it. I took the broccoli and wash it, quietly, with water. After that's done, and I sharpen my knife, I chop it to flakes of forests. Florets decorated my cutting board like confetti. Same goes for the garlic. I just smash it, letting all the allicin leak like the Buloggate scandal. It wetted the board, giving it a smell that Dracula hates.

I take one frying pan, frying from my parents. Slowly enter the onion and broccoli, the sound of which I silenced with the cover it came with. I leave them for a few minutes. Small fire and patience, two keys to the success of this recipe. I grabbed the sourdough I had and I cut one big chunk for myself. For the base later, I thought. The broccoli had become greener, as if the chlorophyll in it has broken, spreading everywhere. I opened it, but I was surprised. I put the lid slowly on the countertop and I looked down. Ah, Its Jackie's arm, as it turns out. "Cooking, much?" she asked. I was caught red-handed. "Yes," I replied. Her hug was tight, just like before, more of a I-like-fluffy-things hug rather than love-me-until-I-am-numb hug. Jackie leaned her head on my shoulder and took the bowl, "Want me to help?" "With pleasure," I replied. Enter the egg mixture into the pan.

Her nude, sweaty body pressed onto my back as she reached out to my hand, therefore grabbing the spatula, and mix the eggs just as if an artificial arm. So sensual, this moment. Her arms, tanned from countless beaches, Kuta, Plengkung, Raja Ampat, envelope part of my abdomen as she moved eggs around quite briskly. I jerk the pan back and forth. Her tongue circle her lips, wetting it as it travels. She might thinks that looks quite delectable, as if my love. After all, that's the main reason for all the kerfuffle 1 year ago, love. Love, apart from God, is the ultimate reason for anything. She knows full well about this, her body language reflects this. After a minute or so, we poured it onto the awaiting sourdough. It was fluffy shards of yellow, with green and translucent white around. We sit down, she was still bare.

"Get a nightgown," I said unto Jackie. Her ears as if deafened by the traffic that seems to not die down this time of the year. "Hmm?" she replied. Her breathing as light as the eggs we cooked. I repeat my line again. She nods silently and reached out a Victoria Secret branded lingerie and a semi-transparent silk one good friend of ours bought for us some lost months ago. "You thought this was a catwalk?" I commented. "Well, I'm already your personal model anyway, so might as well," Jackie flirtatiously answered. She reached for a fork and starts eating it, parsecs before I even get a bite. She smiled, maybe she was hungry tonight. She climbed into my lap while leaning towards the egg. "Who is the cook?" I asked. "Sharing is caring," she replied asking. Damn. I took another fork too and take a bite before it was too late. Just like a toddler. We play for a while before we eat solemnly. Just like the standard I made to myself, not too salty and tasty. Proportional. there are vegetables in there, so its healthy too. Sometimes, as we eat, my mouth is exposed to flakes of bread and broccoli. "Slow down, I told you," I said. "Sorry, I'm hungry," she replied. How cute.

After we finished the scrambled egg, we wash the frying pans, bowls and plates we use. It's done, we're both full. We walk again toward our bed. She stretched his body, covering the land that should be mine. I don't care, I go into the bathroom to take a shower, so I can pray Fajr later. I let the water beads sweep the sweat and liquid that we have removed. Soap, shampoo, done. I'll brush my teeth later in the morning later, I think. I wear my boxers again and hug her like a soft, fluffy pillow. I kissed her goodnight. I close my eyes.


End file.
